


Last Tango in Paris

by slexenskee (Sambomaster)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blasphemy, I can't believe that hasn't happened yet, Louis is a genius, M/M, but Liam is Tony Stark, superspy!Louis, tech!Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:40:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sambomaster/pseuds/slexenskee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry mourns his life. Not because he got hacked, but because he got hacked and Louis came to save him and not sleep with him. </p><p>OR: Louis is a super spy tech genius and Harry is his popstar arm candy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Tango in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually seen Last Tango, though I hear terrible things about it. Anyway, it's from the album Hotel Costes, not the movie. 
> 
> Pretty much Harry belongs to a band called One Direction, featuring him and his best mates, Niall and Zayn. And Louis is... well, the biggest and best and shittiest puzzle he's ever had the misfortune of wanting to solve.

//

 

There is a boy in front of Harry. He’s not doing anything overtly interesting, a fluent figure in a sifting crowd; there’s a group of adolescent girls that Harry’s sure will be coming up to him soon, an elderly couple entirely engrossed in themselves, a few patrons exiting the metro. Harry’s not entirely sure why all his attention is suddenly diverted towards this boy, to the soft curl of light that outlines him in gold, panels of shifting sunlight glimmer against the side of his cheeks and down onto his lips—Harry is enraptured by the sight. He’s coming closer, Harry notices, and his heart flutters involuntarily.

 

He’s definitely coming closer. Harry finds himself rooted to the spot, fixated on his smile as it blooms against his face.

 

Harry thinks they might be having a moment right now, when their eyes lock onto each others, and something warm and endless strings between them. His breath catches, butterflies flutter inside his chest, and then—

 

He gets hit in the face with a beach ball.

 

“Oh shit dude, my bad—“ Some chum with a man bun apologizes profusely as he swoops the ball back up, returning to his friends out playing footie on the grass.

 

He shakes his hair out, staring dumbly as the guy jogs his way back down the mall. The sun sears down the side of his face, and then it is gone in a swoop of shadow. The boy is in front of him now, eyes twinkling as he looks down at him. The light scintillates around him, lining him in diamond lancets.

 

“Oops,” Harry laughs sheepishly, and takes the hand that’s offered to him.

 

 

The other boy laughs with him. “Hi.” He greets, this perfect, chirpy little thing that makes Harry want to melt onto the floor. He turns a dark look towards the lax bros frolicking behind him. “What a tosser,” he says, scowling, before turning back to Harry. “Sorry, this is probably going to sound weird but uh, are you—

 

He tries to look less like a tool than usual, and hopes he doesn't do anything stupid, like trip over his own shoelaces. He doesn’t, fortunately, and instead proffers his hand and attempts the most charming smile he knows. He can’t tell if it works though—the boy’s face is an impenetrable mask of pleasant indifference. “Harry. Harry Styles. Would you like an autograph?”

 

Finally, the perfunctory smile drifts into a look of vague surprise. “Oh. Uh…. Sure?”

 

They stare at each other for a second, in a way that never happens when Harry encounters random fans on the street. There’s normally a fumbling for pens, a lot of excited chatter, and some kind of notebook. The guy takes out his wallet… and Harry signs the back of what looks to be a Chinese takeout receipt.

 

“Thanks,” He says, holding it out in front of him like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

 

Finally he shakes his head. “Oh wow—huh. No, _really,_ thank you. I just realized my sisters will probably frame this.”

 

If possible, Harry grins further. “Well, I am more than happy to be of service.”

 

“Really?” He looks up from where he’s pocketing the wallet and receipt with Harry’s signature scrawled over it. His eyes catch Harry’s and quite literally take his breath away—all the air leaves his lungs in one fell swoop as the boy’s eyes catch his under lowered lashes.

 

“Of course.” Harry swallows.

 

He hopes he’s reading this the right way.

 

“Well, in that case my name is Louis: I’m here with the CIA. They wanted me to ask you a couple questions—would that be okay?”

 

Turns out he really, really wasn’t.

 

*

 

_Last Tango in Paris_

 

*

 

Harry attempts to look on the bright side.

 

He’s not a crazy rabid fan, which Harry supposes is a plus—but he’s also absolutely not interested in sleeping with Harry, so really it’s kind of irrelevant whether he is or not. Harry spends most of their interview trying not to shit his pants. The other half he spends trying to get _into_ Louis’ pants. Neither option works out all that well.

 

The worst part is—Louis is nice. He’s really nice. He’s a great bloke with a great sense of humor (and great _hair,_ which, like, Harry is affronted! Harry is—okay, he would be a little upset that someone had better hair than him, if that someone wasn’t Louis) and Harry feels like it must have been fate his macbook got a Trojan virus that ended up secretly using his computer power to become a bot for some crazy hacker who apparently just hacked most of the fortune 500, and then dumped all his cyber trail onto Harry’s computer. Harry mourns his life. Not because he got hacked, but because he got hacked and Louis came to _save_ him and not _sleep_ with him.

 

It’s not Harry’s fault that Louis is unnaturally attractive. Hell, the guys not even doing anything but sitting on his hotel couch; those spindly, elegant fingers a flurry of movement as they dance across his—yeah, okay, this is getting ridiculous. The guy is fixing his fucking computer, for fuck’s sake.

 

“Don’t worry—you’re not going to get arrested.” Louis chuckles, as he sticks in some sort of magical usb device that lights his computer screen on fire with code. “This isn’t technically your fault; and technically we can’t deport you anyway.”

 

Harry snorts. “Trust me, I’m not trying to stay any longer than I need to.” Actually, he would be perfectly okay to spend a couple more days—or years—in DC, if Louis was there to keep him company.

 

Louis looks up at him, and Harry wishes his smile wasn’t just perfunctory. “Are you here on tour?”

 

Harry nods. “Yeah, just down the Eastern Seaboard. Heading back home for a week after that. We’re popping across Europe after that.”

 

“Busy time for you, huh?”

 

Harry wishes they could stop this small talk—and, and… he doesn’t know. Do terrible, terrible things in his bedroom just down the hall. Louis is in his _house._ Or, well, hotel room, whatever; he’s _here,_ just a few steps into Harry’s life and yet miles away. Harry is not particularly sure why this thought disturbs him, but it does. He doesn’t want Louis to leave. He wants another hacker to hack his computer and make Louis stay forever.

 

“Something like that, yeah.” Harry answers, absentmindedly. “So, you’re from around here?”

 

Louis doesn’t reply for a moment, his fingers lightning movement over Harry’s keyboard. His computer begins to make sorrowful noises, as if it’s dying under Louis’ touch. Harry sympathizes. It occurs to him then that maybe Louis is not allowed to answer. The thought is as disappointing as it is thrilling. Then the blonde shakes his head, looking up and finally replying, “Uh, no, actually. I’m from England.”

 

Harry’s brows raise. Really? Now that he’s thinking about it, he thinks he can hear a bit of an accent.

 

“That was a long time ago, though.” Louis returns his utmost attention to the screen. Harry mourns the loss. “My family moved to the greater Washington area some years ago.”

 

“And you work for the government?” Harry feels compelled to ask. If he works here then… well, Harry can schedule a few more tours around the Verizon center, right? Surely management wouldn’t mind. Wait, if he’s like a CIA super spy, is he allowed to date people who aren’t American? Is that, like, a crime or something?

 

This startles into laugher. “No, uh, sort of. Uh, it’s complicated.” He grins, as if privy to a private joke that Harry isn’t aware of. He does not offer any explanation, however.

 

Harry breathes a sigh of relief. He tries to—as casually as possible—lean over the chair Louis is working on, in the most transparent attempt at throwing his arm over the back of Louis’ chair. It totally works, though, because Louis is actually _doing_ something, like maybe back hacking his computer, and is too engrossed to notice.

 

“And you have sisters?” Harry leans closer, in the pretense of getting a better look at his computer screen.

 

There’s a background picture of him and the lads, on stage in the Staples Center, but its completely overtaken by what appears to be a legion of windows all simultaneously running on his screen.

 

“Yes I do.” Louis quips back. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry that he doesn’t remark further on the subject. Is he not allowed to say anything about that either? Harry blinks. He’s never met a super spy before. Are there a lot of questions he can’t answer?

 

“So… what do you do, besides accost poor, unsuspecting lads and fix their computers?”

 

Louis stills at that, giving Harry a sidelong glance. Harry thinks he sees a brief glimmer of amusement in the upturned corner of his mouth. He tosses out that meaningless smile again. “I work in IT.” He answers, in the most unhelpful way possible.

 

He’s not even all that offended that Louis technically just brushed him off. Harry could get used to this, he thinks. The mystery is sort of enchanting.

 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have time to, as Louis exits out of all the scripts rolling down Harry’s screen—and Harry’s desktop background prevails once more. He takes out his magical USB with great finality, and then removes himself from the circle of Harry’s arms. Harry tries not to pout.

 

“At any rate, I’d suggest you stop…” Louis pauses, and then coughs rather uncomfortably. “Uh, going onto disreputable sites. Or opening up strange emails. That’s normally where you’ll get these kinds of viruses.”

 

Disre—Oh. _Oh._ Harry would be somewhat embarrassed, but, well, he’s on tour a lot, and Louis’ a guy, he can probably relate.

 

He shrugs instead. “Whatever you say, doctor.”

 

Louis gives him a somewhat exasperated look. Harry is absolutely charmed at the sight.

 

“Right. Well,” He whips out his phone, beginning to peck away. “Agent Dawlish will be up to debrief you in a moment.” He says after some time puttering away, probably communicating with the Agents outside the door in some super cool spy code. “Also, your IP address may be tracked for a few weeks after this—you’ll have to sign a full disclosure form on this in a bit with all the details.”

 

“Alright.” Harry nods. Sounds like standard procedure.

 

And then Louis turns to look at him, slips on that perfunctory smile once more, and Harry feels his stomach drop. The blonde proffers his hand as if this isn’t the end of something beautiful.

 

He can’t do anything else but shake it.

 

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Styles.” And the way it rolls off his tongue makes little dots of pleasure shiver against his spine.

 

“And you as well.” He returns, extravagant, bowing outrageously as he does. “Mr…?”

 

But Louis only spares him another small smile—this one perhaps a bit regretful. “Just Louis.” He says, softly, something deep and heavy strung between them in this moment. And then he is shaking his head, with a bit of a laugh, “I prefer it that way. It’s mildly horrifying to even think of referring to myself in the same regard as my father.”

 

Is it possible for him to be any more charming? His nose wrinkles; Harry is quite sure he’s never seen anything quite as enchanting.

 

He is also sure he is completely and utterly besotted with this boy, and he’s only known him for the space of an hour.

 

“Louis it is, then.” He laughs, as his stomach rolls itself into knots. “May we meet again.”

 

“Perhaps not under the same circumstances.” Louis tosses out as he walks to the door, throwing a small smile over his shoulder as he does it.

 

He’s not sure what the feeling is in the bottom of his stomach.

 

It feels a lot like a tapeworm.

 

But it might actually be love.

 

*

*

 

They do not meet again for some months, but Harry does not forget. Rather; he throws himself into his conveniently all-consuming day job as a pop star. He’s starting to think it also might be helpful to moonlight as a professional counter strike player during the night, if only to stop himself from sleeping and dreaming about a boy he barely knows. It’s not as if he isn’t already clocking in the hours, whittling away most of the night on his xbox or computer, trying to occupy his weary mind.

 

But he tires of the inane trash talking of pre-pubescent school boys soon enough, and he is back to square one. The idea of meeting and falling in love with a super spy sounds great in every James Patterson book he’s ever read, and modern media usually paints it as a harrowing, over-dramatic love story involving thematic overtones and epic gun fights, but the reality falls short. First of all; he doesn’t even know Louis’ name. Not really, anyway. There are a lot of Louis’ out there in the world. And who’s to say that’s actually his name?

 

Not to mention, it is practically in his job description to be unsearchable and totally off the grid. And it’s not as if Harry is also a super-hacker who could wheedle his way into gleaning that kind of personal information about him.

 

So Harry is at a loss.

 

Cue more Counterstrike.

 

Niall is actually starting to get concerned for him; maybe because his KD ratio is officially better than his GPA was. This is alarming. Contrary to popular belief, Harry was not actually all that bad of a student. He debates the merits of moonlighting as a professional Counterstrike player once again. The idea seems more and more appealing. But then he decides he wouldn’t be able to handle that life; which says a lot, coming from perhaps the most stalked celebrity of the twenty-first century. Meanwhile the tour goes on, as does life, and his complete and utter enrapture with the mysterious Louis fades with the time. He’s not sure why it eats at him so much; maybe because he is the one who got away. Although ‘got away’ would infer that Harry had him to begin with. Maybe it _is_ all the mystery. Maybe if he finally found out who Louis was his obsession with him would go away. Maybe he was really boring and like, was part of a knitting circle and read grocery-store romance novels. Maybe he was actually a jerk. Harry didn’t know—so instead he just had long, silent red-eye flights to think and wonder and make up all sorts of over-imaginative scenarios to fill in the blanks.

 

He would bemoan his life, but he was Harry Styles; there were very few things to be upset over in his life, and anyway, his mum would whack him over the head for moping around and being ungrateful and stuck in all this self-pity.

 

Whatever, Harry commiserates. So one got away—it was a big world out there, and there were a lot more fish in the sea.

 

*

 

As luck (or misfortune?) would have it Harry is, indeed, fated to meet Louis again.

 

And not because he was inadvertently part of some underground criminal hacker ring.

**Author's Note:**

> There is more, I fucking swear it. But idk how long I want each chapter to be so cue technical difficulties


End file.
